


The Essential Guide to Parenting and Adoption for the Enterprising Sith Lord

by Tulak_Hord



Series: An  Amalgamation of Anachronistic, Antidisestablishmentarian Antics [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: And a very civilised one at that, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, BAMF Shmi Skywalker, Crack Treated Seriously, Force-Sensitive Shmi Skywalker, Gen, Obi-Wan is adopted by a Sith Master, Planet Melida | Daan (Star Wars), Shmi fixes the mess that is Star Wars, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Though Vectivus tries very vehemently to deny it, Time Travel, Watch as small Obi-Wan melts his Sith Foster Father's heart one little bit at a time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulak_Hord/pseuds/Tulak_Hord
Summary: 1)Take uniquely polite Sith Lord, preferably confused. Shake thoroughly.2)Add Small Kenobi.3)Let simmer by placing in preheated Melida/Daan and watch unprecedented adoption.4)Serve sweet.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Darth Vectivus, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Shmi Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Shmi Skywalker/Darth Vectivus
Series: An  Amalgamation of Anachronistic, Antidisestablishmentarian Antics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073768
Comments: 141
Kudos: 662





	1. Chapter 1

**The Essential Guide to Parenting and Adoption for the Enterprising Sith Lord**

“Now, this is what I should call a _fine_ mess. A mess, to be sure, but not a nasty or gruesome one. A _fine_ mess, yes. A sophisticated problem, one that shall require the application of the mind to answer, and not simply a matter of brute force and determination as the latter kind. Why, I should say it was all rather elegant.”

The Sith Master Darth Vectivus was, as always, quite prone to musings and speaking to himself. It was a habit one picked up after a life of scheming, and the staunch principle to distrust just about everyone and their pet tooka.

“Now, why would an ancient Sith Temple on Dathomir bring me… here?” he wondered aloud, his words echoing off the sewer walls. There were no lifeforms nearby, or so his instincts told him, and he could not be heard. Until there was.

A small presence, muted and soft, accompanied by the distinct _pitter-patter_ of silent grief in the Force. A lost soul, no doubt.

 _And powerfully resonant_ with the Unifying Force. It seemed uncertain- as if it had taken a few steps and had been rudely interrupted. In other words, woefully misguided talent that deserved careful nurturing.

He decided to introduce himself.

In his life, Sith as he was, Vectivus had done no evil, and neither had he killed another being. It seemed- _wasteful,_ somehow. Why slay wantonly when there was always the option of befriending, cajoling, and turning profit?

Unlike most Sith, Lord Vectivus was not prone to feats of anger and hatred in the Dark Side. It was why his Master had considered him weak, among many things- poor fool, Vectivus sometimes felt sorry for him. He had not killed his master, of course. That would have served to encourage his own fallacy.

Yes. Subtly influencing his master’s mind over a decade and inflicting a persistent amnesia, which allowed him to influence a great desire to become an outer-rim Nerf-herder had surely been the more… _appropriate…_ manner of continuing the cycle of the Rule of Two. Sometimes, Vectivus wondered if his master was happy.

His master had been cruel in his time, always jabbering on about power for power’s sake, this and that- but what did Vectivus care? All he himself wished was a heady goblet of wine and plentiful profit to take care of his family, as well as a fine, young apprentice to whom he’d pass on the Sith ways without turning them into a homicidal egomaniac. Hopefully.

So be it. Anomaly of the Force, Vision of the Future or whatever his current situation was, by the time he could hear the shuffling of feet coming slowly in his direction, he’d resolved to make a friend.

* * *

To be rejected by one’s Jedi Master is the most grievous harm that can be done to a padawan’s psyche- short of something utterly catastrophic such as having said master be slain by a Sith Lord, of course.

And so, in this matter, nearly all would forgive young Obi-Wan Kenobi his sadness and grief, save Obi-Wan himself.

“ _Idiot, fool, you deserved that- all of that!”_ he shouted at himself, repeated to himself like a mantra to the effect that he heard the words toll like bells in his mind.

 _“Master Qui-Gon said I betrayed his teachings. Master Qui-Gon said I could no longer be a Jedi, if I wished to help the Young. Master Qui Gon said… he said… I would fall to the Dark Side…”_ Obi-Wan muttered, unable to keep himself from grief.

He had thought, at first, that he would _show_ his Master, he’d _show_ him, until he realized that Master Qui-Gon was _always right,_ and that it was _not his place_ to-

“Hello there!” came a shout from in front of him, and Obi-Wan snapped up his tearful eyes.

He was glad for the sight, as it was thoroughly confusing and thus a distraction from his thoughts.

There was a tall man in front of him, in the same sewer hideout that served as a base of operations for the Young here on Melida/Daan, seeming so utterly out of place that it was a marvel of the universe in its own. Obi-Wan would imagine he would seem menacing as a silhouette, only that he wasn’t. A human man, wearing odd, nearly _priestly_ robes and an unnecessarily voluminous cloak.

“… _Hello there?”_ he replied hesitantly, and the man took it as a sign to come forward.

“Come now, my young friend. Don’t be afraid.” he said, attempting a smile, showing flashing white teeth. If not for the slight crinkle around his soft yellow ( _yellow!)_ eyes, Obi-Wan would suspect it was an affectation.

Nevertheless, the man was nearly as tall as Master Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan could sense no Force presence (though Master Yoda had told him that he was young and easily led-on, with average abilities at best), and even then, he stood his ground, wishing sorely that his lightsaber was with him.

“Who are you? Don’t come near…” he warned, standing his ground. It could be an operative of the Melida, or the Daan…

The figure gave a strange huff.

“You Jedi Padawans are all the same, if I do say so myself. All huffy, sanctimonious, and unnecessarily suspicious of precisely the wrong people, and most likely the sort who can never grow up to enjoy a good serving of wine and cheese.” he said, shaking his head rather exasperatedly.

Obi-Wan gave a startled gasp.

“How did you know I was-how…”

The figure stepped forward, heedless of his warning.

“Ah, so you _were,_ instead of _are._ A little young to leave the Order, are you not? Why, their methods of indoctrination must be weakening for them to be forsaken by a child of… thirteen?”

“Fourteen.” Obi-Wan said, far too intrigued to catch himself.

“Fourteen it is, then- but by Marka Ragnos, do you appear woefully thin. They do not feed you particularly well at that nasty temple, is it?”

 _“What?”_ was all Obi-Wan could ask.

How had this- how had this _ridiculous_ meeting turned in this direction? Neither of them knew the name of the other, and this man- he had the _audacity_ to say that he did looked… _thin?_

Never mind that he had never particularly liked the refectory’s atrocious idea of a meal, and that Master Qui-Gon’s tempestuous schedule meant he could not particularly indulge himself at Dex’s, but- _what kind of man would remark on how well he was being fed while knowing he was a jedi?_

A lunatic, he reasoned.

“Ah, forgive me, but, er…”

Something glinted in the man’s eyes- some form of apology- and he hastily and profusely apologised.

“Oh- pardon me, but I have forgotten myself. You see, I feel rather strongly about how _some people_ can never appreciate the finer points in life. But of course, the Jedi espouse a policy of renunciation, don’t they?” he said, in a rather rushing yet smooth torrent of words.

“I-suppose- yes… look, _I left the Jedi Order.”_ Obi-Wan found himself saying before he could cease it. This- this utterly idiosyncratic lunatic had a way with words, a way to open one’s mouth as if a floodgate and prompt one to blab.

He harshly chastised himself.

“Well, since you left the Order, you have no need of that ridiculous philosophy anymore, do you? In my time across the Galaxy I have come to know a great many traditions, and I must say the Mandalorian one appeals to me the most.”

“The… Mandalorian way?” Obi-Wan asked, utterly unsure of where this meandering conversation was going.

 _‘It has something to do with… feeding me sweets…”_ he mused, before harshly quelling his thoughts. He was being infected, it seemed, by the man’s insanity and his odd fussing about cuisine.

“Yes. _Haat Mando’ade-_ haven’t you heard of them? Rather _uncivilised_ as they may sometimes be, with their blaster-twirling antics, I am nothing if not an advocate of their code for _ad’e-_ children, that is. Now, some of my best friends are of the _Haat Mando’ade._ If you could tell me how to leave this labyrinth Of The Ungainly Odour, perhaps I could introduce you to them. They would fatten you up in no time.”

The poor padawan’s head was spinning.

This man was a friend of the _Haat Mando’ade- Haat…_

_Oh. True Mandalorians._

He did not know how he should deliver the news. Perhaps he should lie- but the man seemed genuine in his friendship, with that odd sort of wistful look in his eyes when he spoke of them.

It was settled then. He would tell the truth. Curt and to the point, as any Jedi should be.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Mr, uh-“

“Tor Valum.” Vectivus offered, holding out a hand. The padawan took it.

So far, his ploys had been working perfectly. He should have come across as a bit of an eccentric gentleman- perhaps somewhat kooky- and that should cultivate at least a modicum of trust, and endear himself to the boy.

He had gotten out that he had left the Order, which just _reeked_ of opportunity. And this young fellow was so _bright,_ so _powerful_ in the Force- why, he would surely be a worthy heir to Vectivus’ legacy.

“Quinlan Eerin, Mr. Valum.” the padawan said confidently. A lie, of course, but he deserved praise for his natural suspicion. 

“As I said, er…” his young friend hesitated, in that adorable sort of manner that cost Vectivus a considerable amount of teeth-gnashing to keep his resolve and not snatch the boy up to spirit him away to Korriban or some other safe Sith hold (he could not afford to spoil his new apprentice, as much as he wished to), and paused a bit.

“Hmm?” he asked, wondering if he should _maybe, maybe just_ go a little softer on him than a Sith Master should when he eventually became his apprentice (for there was now no way in all the Sith hells he wouldn’t).

“I don’t know how to say this, but the _Haat Mando’ade-_ the… er, True Mandalorians- they died out at Galidraan earlier this year”

 _‘Died out’._ Lie. Vectivus knew euphemisms for murder as well as any Sith.

 _‘Earlier this year.’_ What.

As far as he was concerned, they were all alive and well a year ago! Why, he had had this lovely gathering with the Mand’alor in which a lot of aged wine and keldabe kisses had been involved, with Vectivus taking advantage of his friends’ drunkenness to steal some of their beskar for his alchemical studies.

“What is it that you mean by, ‘earlier this year? They were alive and well- as well as their constant culture of headbutting allows anyways- last I saw them.”

The padawan pursed his lips.

“Um, earlier this year would mean… this year? 956 ARR?” his would-be apprentice said, now more confused than a human being had any right to be.

Vectivus, meanwhile, felt as if he had been run through by his own lightsaber.

“ _956 ARR?”_ he mouthed in disbelief. He was, sadly, very familiar with the system. “ARR, as in After the Ruusan Reformation?”

The padawan nodded, confused as to how it could mean anything else.

 _“Oh. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, dear, dear, dear.”_ Vectivus muttered, head swimming slightly. 

“Mr. Valum?” his 'charge' asked, but the Sith Master ignored him, no matter how oddly sentimental for the boy he felt. 

After all, being informed that you have somehow time-travelled eight hundred years into the Future may accomplish that effect.

“Forgive me, Padawan Eerin, but I would be thankful if you were so kind as to, ah, shut your ears for a minute.”

It really was heartening how his quaary immediately forgot his own confusion and hastily moved to make him comfortable.

“Oh, no, don’t worry, Mr. Valum. I have heard a number of things in my time, though it may not seem so…”

“You really do wish to cover your ears, my young friend.” Vectivus asserted, and his young friend's face seemed rather disturbed at how he seemed utterly _certain._

At length, the padawan complied.

**“KINTIK HADZUSKA SUTTA CHWITUSKAK!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Darth Vectivus, the Sith Lord who did no evil and Consummate Englishman. He is, as far as I'm concerned, one of the more interesting characters from the EU. Whereas other Sith Lords are obsessed with power for power's sake, Vectivus does not really care, and uses the Dark Side mainly for fun and profit. And wine with cheese. 
> 
> I have seen a number of stories in which Obi-Wan gets adopted, particularly by Mandalorians- and so here I am. The Sith need their chance in the spotlight too, don't they? ( **Evil Cackle** )


	2. Aggravating Ambuscades

**Aggravating Ambuscades**

“Now, then.”

Truthfully, he was rather enjoying himself, even though he envisaged to somewhat dampen the Power of the Dark Side.

The Young Soldiers, of course- _such an uncivilised lot, did they not have anything better to do?-_ continued firing with no quarter offered. Vectivus sighed. Some of his fellows among his Dark Lords would have found it all rather endearing, but he was in truth a tad annoyed. It seemed all rather… wasteful. At least it allowed him a bit of relaxation, as he rather casually flicked a child’s slug-thrower out of his arms.

“Now, then, now, then, then now.”

A myriad of blaster shots covered him, and Vectivus did not wish to particularly alarm them with the crimson glow of his lightsaber, instead simply holding his palms in the way and absorbing the tibanna gas in the blaster bolts with a touch of tutaminis.

He did not see his young padawan friend, as he had been dragged away somewhere by these other piglets. He could, however, sense a bit of a storm brewing in the Force, and that would be the signal for a rather heated argument.

“Then now, now then.” said he, punctuating his every move with a placating word. It was somewhat of a queer habit of his, he mused- certainly very idiosyncratic. Blasters were simply so… _uncivilised._ As he thought these thoughts, a few of the children facing him down tripped at his subtle command.

Vectivus made a furtive check to see if his quarry was around. It seemed not, but he’d have to be subtle about it.

A moment later, the blasters exploded. Non-lethally, of course.

Naturally, the Sith Lords had developed a far more effective technique to countering blasters as they always did. It was supposed to be rather more violent, if one was to follow the guidelines of the creator, Darth Ruin- but Vectivus had always thought Darth Ruin to not be a very nice fellow and ha dinstead refined it to a non-lethal technique.

“Now! Then!” he huffed, wrinkling his nose up a bit at the tibanna gas’ pungent odour. They really ought to invest in less… malodourous… substances for plasma projectiles, certainly. Perhaps he’d pursue it as a business project.

It appeared that his assailants had understood that he would not be harmed. They muttered something in hushed voices.

“Now, my dear, young fellows, I mean you no harm. As such, there is no need for these petulant antics. Now, I understand that you’re all growing boys and girls, but we all go through such phases in life. I must say, I’ve never seen such a raging case of hormones on another planet that the young are spurred to execute simple men trying to make their way up in the- _oh, bother.”_

It was a simple matter to deduce that the furtive whispers across their primitive excuses for comms had been to stop all sorts of firing in the sewer… to switch weapons.

Explosive slug shots, now. Vectivus could say those were rather painful to block by tutaminis.

 _“Oh, bother. Bother, bother, bother.”_ he muttered again, nonchalantly waving an arm in an arcane gesture, at which the slugs stopped in midair.

There was yet another exceptionally violent option that came to his mind, that of redirecting the slugs’ motion and sending them back to the offending snipers proposed by the great Sith Lord Darth Rivan (not to be confused with Revan). And yet again, Vectivus was very thankful for his interest in psychology, as he had diagnosed Darth Rivan as a rather unapologetic sociopath who probably ate dogs’ tails for dinner. It wouldn’t do for him to be so unscrupulous.

 _“Bother oh bother, bother, bother, bother of bothers.”_ he kept chanting (entirely oblivious, of course), focusing on dropping the slugs to the ground with a certain amount of dainty neatness. Why, look at that. He’d made a snowflake. Maybe he’d try for a penrose pattern next time, though he didn’t wish for there to be a next time.

There was, of course, another solution.

“NIELD! STOP THIS!” came a shout at last, just as Vectivus’ cloak had detached itself and begun wringing two of his assailants by the neck.

* * *

Part of Obi-Wan felt guilty at having put his foot down on the matter rather late.

That was the part of him that wasn’t completely dazed, utterly horrified, and silently admiring.

He heard footsteps approaching- but of course they would, Mr. Valum was force-sensitive. And a downright _masterful_ at that.

He didn’t even think Master Yoda could have done that! Well, of course, Master Yoda would have just knocked everybody out- but perhaps it spoke better of Mr- probably not Mr, whatever he was- Valum that he did not hurt a single one among the Young.

“Ah, there you are, Padawan Kenobi. I suppose I ought to feel glad that you stopped your friends from getting hurt, though I do still believe your sense of timing might need a little bit of work. I happen to have a certain amount of experience in the matter- perhaps you wouldn’t object to my instruction?”

_What._

“How- how did you know I was… Padawan Kenobi?”

Tor Valum strode in, cloak floating airily behind him. A few tooth marks were upon it. Obi-Wan’s friend Nield, a leader of the Young, glared openly at him.

“The science of deduction is an acquired skill, and one that is invaluable in matters of such duplicity. I can teach you, of course- I would be rather happy to- but it would be appreciated if Nield here would stop glaring at me. Between us, it does rather make him seem a puerile Narglatch hatchling, and a scruffy one at that.”

Obi-Wan just stopped questioning the existence of reality. This was all a very strange dream, that was sure.

Nield looked horrified for a moment, only a moment, before he glared with renewed suspicion. Mr. Valum only looked bemused, and somehow vaguely _annoyed._ Once again, Obi-Wan defused the situation by stepping between them.

“First off, you have the Force.”

“I _have_ the Force? No, no, I should not put it quite like that. It is more as if the Force has _me,_ as it has you. I just don’t choose to drift along its currents like the Jedi do- or have they changed now? No matter. Anyways, one’s existence in the Force is typically the first lesson that is taught in the Jedi Temple- or so I have been reliably informed. Hmm, were you truly a Jedi Padawan? Perhaps I judged wrongly- but I didn’t sense any lie when you said you were. I might be getting rusty, however.”

 _This man truly loved his semantics._ Obi-Wan chose to put up with it and suffer, as he always had.

“Secondly, you deduced who we were.”

“Come now, that was easy. Surely you are aware of the _multifarious_ signs- you aren’t? Not really? Oh, well, I suppose I must have a word with the Cuckoo that taught you the Jedi arts. Or perhaps all Jedi have horrendous observation skills. Or perhaps it is not part of the curriculum of a padawan, which if my opinion were to be sought I would call a rather stupid…”

“ _Tell us how. Now.”_ Nield said. Vectivus scoffed.

“Well, you can’t entertain delusions that anything you have here can do anything but tickle me, or you would be particularly half-witted, which I sense you are not- ah, wait. Tickles are rather tortuous themselves; it seems I have forgotten some of the nastier itches I have endured.”

Obi-Wan used the Force to keep his head from spinning. It occurred to him that such a method of _talking-_ or whatever Mr. Valum was doing- would be particularly lethal in any situation that might require aggressive negotiation. He’d have to learn the skill sometime. If he didn’t die trying.

“Alright, alright. I’m not particularly fond of tickles. You, Padawan Kenobi, were referred to by the code _Nardrake. ‘Nar’draich’,_ it would mean in Stuujak- that is the language of Stewjon, for your benefit, young Nield. As for you, Kenobi, Stewjon is most certainly your home planet; I’ve never seen any variety of ginger hair quite like yours save from those of Stewjon. Nar’draich- no name- is an epithet for a rather common surname for orphans or abandoned children. ‘Kenobi’, or ‘Son of Nothing’. And as you are force-sensitive, and Stewjon’s people consider that a curse, there followed an imemdiate deduction that you likely came up with the codename 'Nardrake' yourself. If you perhaps thought it very clever, I assure you it was not.”

He could not deny that it was all true.

It also meant that Mr. Valum likely read a lot of holobooks. He wondered if he’d ever had an affair with Master Jocasta Nu at some point.

“How… how did you get whom Nield was?”

“The same way as I can tell that you inferred I read a lot of holobooks. Now whatever your cuckoo might have told you, that is not a bad thing. There is no such thing as an excess of holobooks. Sometimes, I find ones so engaging that I have them printed in paper, in the old fashioned manner- a terribly archaic custom, but one I’m rather fond of.”

Never mind that this man knew how to make _paper- real paper-_ or that he’d probably just referred to Master Qui-Gon as a cuckoo.

“So you can sense my thoughts.”

“Indeed. We’ll discuss this later, but while your Force-shields are impressive, you sometimes break them yourself, to direct your thoughts straight to those around you. Something we’ll have to discuss later, of course.”

Obi-Wan fought the urge to look down in shame.

_If I’d just been a better padawan, maybe Master Qui-Gon would let our training bond fully develop like he did with Xanatos. Maybe he wouldn’t shut me out and I wouldn’t have to consciously break my own shields to send my thoughts at him._

He looked up again, to see Mr. Valum staring down at him in an odd sort of way.

 _Force rot his damnable soul._ Of course Valum had heard that. Obi-Wan slammed his shields back, full-force. Mr. Valum, thankfully, probably knew something of awkward matters.

“Continuing on, if I am not very much mistaken, you shouted Nield’s name rather loudly a little while ago, and this fellow here is the only person with whom you share a minor force bond, as far as I can sense. I took my chances. Is that enough or ought I…”

“So, you’re telling me that you are an expert detective and can track down people’s identities using this Force-wizardry as Obi-Wan here can, only in a far more… advanced manner.” interrupted Nield, before Mr. Valum could get his mouth speaking again.

“That is the gist of it, yes, though I should put it rather more eloquently by enunciating…”

 _“Oh my gods we need your help so much.”_ Nield said with a gasp, practically falling at his feet.

Mr. Valum looked at him.

“Obi-Wan. That is your name, is it not? Tell your friend that I shall indeed be glad to help, as I find civil wars a rather distasteful matter. In the meantime, I would appreciate an explanation of why your friends around us are moving away steadily at the sight of my cloak. It only mildly strangled two of them, when I set it to work…”

Obi-Wan decided he needed to find Cerasi, and then cry into her shoulder.

_A bloody mess._

* * *

Everything that had transpired had done so according to Lord Vectivus’ design. Why, he was rather pleased with himself. Obi-Wan would be his apprentice soon. _His,_ and not the cuckoo’s. Perhaps he’d kill the cuckoo.

Qui-Gon Jinn? No, cuckoo was still better. Especially if Vectivus planned to have him murdered, if he became somehow a liability.

He was, however, rather disturbed. _Child Soldiers? In this Galaxy?_

A damned travesty. A lot of people needed to be killed- no, not killed. That dubious honour was reserved for the cuckoo. A lot of people needed to be mind-probed, inflicted with amnesia and influenced to become scruffy Nerf-herders, yes.

He decided that once this _fine_ mess (he still would not call it a _bloody mess;_ there remained some elegance to the problem) was over, his first project would be a university for these children.

He wondered if he could somehow set up a Chemistry course and have a number of students join it.

And then introduce a bit of Sith Alchemy as part of the curriculum.


	3. Duplicitous Discombobulation

**Duplicitous Discombobulation**

All in all, Vectivus decided, this Cerasi was a fine leader, who knew how to inspire her people. And therefore, she deserved a place on his ‘to kill’ list.

He had taken a very great deal of time examining the Force bond between herself and Obi-Wan, and found that his would-be apprentice had a bit of a crush on her- _now that simply wouldn’t do._

Obi-Wan was rather young for such things, was he not? And Vectivus resolved to crush such things as crushes for the sake of his future (certainly not some other protective instinct, oh no. He was a Sith Lord, Ragnos’ sake).

He had run into Cerasi’s meagre quarters and told the entire story to her, accepting her reassurances and comforting words. Vectivus knew this well, as he had subtly placed a tracker that came with a bug (infused with the Dark Side) on Obi-Wan’s shirt, for his own safety. He couldn’t allow the boy to keep rushing into danger and not have both eyes and ears on him.

In truth, it was very likely he would not have to arrange it. Many of these ‘Young’ resented her views and wished their elders punished, not forgiven when this war was over. Why, some even ventured to have her supplanted as leader.

Hmm. Perhaps he could use the Nield fellow to that end. There was a respectable amount of hatred in him, enough to-

“We really must get rid of your instinct to follow one around like a shadow, Obi-Wan.” he said evenly, to the boy behind him.

“You- you can sense me, Mr. Valum? I- I had my shields up.” he said, and Vectivus gave an absent nod. No need to explain Darth Malgus’ thesis on sensing non-pathetic lifeforms now. He gestured to his side, waiting for Obi-Wan to take stride beside him.

The youngling surprised him by overtaking him and accosting him, looking straight at his eyes.

“Who _are_ you?” he asked, giving no quarter.

“What do you mean? Do you mean to wish for the name that belongs to me, or the name that is given to me whether I want it or not? Or is it that you do not wish my name but an anecdotal inference about my character? Or is it that you refer to a distinction between what I am called and what I truly am?”

“Look, stop! Stop! I’m- I’m sorry, Mr. Valum, I only meant to ask a question. I’ll not do it again if you…”

Vectivus was rather bemused.

“You asked a question, and as it was not really a very good question, I sought to find out what the answer you wished was. Is that truly so fearsome that you would…”

“You don’t realise that you- oh, begging your pardon, Mr. Valum. I shall hereon stop bothering…”

“Bothering?” now Vectivus felt slightly annoyed. “You’re not bothering me in any way, my dear friend. What bothers me is the fuss you must cook up at a simple question. It’s the cuckoo, isn’t it? Or are all the Jedi taught to be the lords of vagaries and bad questions?”

Obi-Wan looked at him for about an instant. Vectivus looked back, completely unable to understand what the problem was. For instance, why was the boy clutching his head as if it threatened to revolve?

“ _Oh.”_ said Obi-Wan at last.

“Hmm?” said Vectivus, which was a blessing, as he had chosen to not say _“Am I to assume that you have drawn an inference, the sample of which is as of yet unknown to myself?”_ which might have knocked Obi-Wan out.

“There’s nothing wrong with me- it’s that you just talk like that.”

“Oh, there is certainly nothing wrong with you, my dear fellow, just an ingrained refusal to ask _simple_ questions. I imagine the cuckoo is to blame for that, and I shall pluck its feathers soon, mark my words. And what do you mean, talk like _that?_ I endeavour in my manner of speech to be as precise as possible. One cannot do with misinterpretations in my trade. Why, it is all of you who seem dissonant with dialect, what it the unnaturally short sentences, cut-off verbiage, vague short forms and-“

“Alright, alright, I understand!” Obi-Wan interrupted before he could go on. He then interrupted _himself_ to give a profuse apology for the interruption.

And it annoyed the Dark Lord to no end, that this boy of all should interrupt himself to apologise. Somehow, Vectivus knew that the cuckoo was behind this. He’d certainly kill the cuckoo. And serve it to one of the cuckoo's colleagues for dinner. He imagined they'd twitter appreciatively, asking for his culinary secrets, which of course he'd refuse to yield.

* * *

It took some time to get used to Tor Valum, but he was managing.

First, it became apparent to Obi-Wan that he had a very distinct manner of speaking, one that he likely thought very normal; and that normal speech to him seemed somehow very dissonant and – what was the word he used- _obfuscated._

The solution? Every time he spoke, Obi-Wan did an amalgamation of his best impressions of Jedi Masters Jocasta Nu, Tera Sinube and Dooku (his own grandmaster), who were the Temple’s most virtuosic rhetoricians. That seemed to somehow put Mr. Valum at ease, and he answered all his questions perfectly. In fact, he seemed almost eager to answer. Who knew his jokes with Quinlan would make for a valid mode of conversation?

The second thing was to remember that conversation worked the opposite way with Mr. Valum. _Nothing_ Obi-Wan ever ssaid seemed to offend Mr. Valum (which was a first, as he had spent a great degree of time chided for his boldness at the Temple).

In fact, what ticked him off was Obi-Wan’s apologies, those that so pleased and placated his masters at the Temple. Every time Obi-Wan apologised, the smile seemed to temporarily flicker off Mr. Valum’s face.

He could not see it in the tall man’s features, but something… _dark,_ something of terrible rage and anger crossed over in the Force. The Dark Side, maybe? So far, he could not pinpoint even Mr. Valum’s more egregious feats to it, but perhaps he wasn’t experienced enough.

Now sufficiently educated in the arts of bizarre conversation, his first question was to enquire where Mr. Valum had gotten his training from.

“Ah, I am glad you should ask me that. We were travellers, my master and I. Some of the spots we visited make me rather nostalgic. Byss, Yavin, Korriban… lovely places, all of them. Remind me to take you to all of those someday.”

 _‘Korriban?’_ Why was that name familiar?

Obi-Wan hushed his thoughts. Surely it wasn’t _Moraband_ or some Sith World. A civilised being such as Mr. Valum would never go there!

“The Force Order you belonged to, Mr. Valum- by what moniker did they refer to their own? If you don’t mind my asking.”

 _“NO, I CERTAINLY DO NOT MIND YOUR ASKING, AND THERE IS NO NEED TO BE EXCESSIVELY APOLOGETIC ABOUT YOUR QUESTIONS!”_ Mr. Valum _shouted_ at him, waving a clawed hand- for the first time. the motion was not the picture of elegance. Somewhere, a Melida soldier crashed into a tree with some extreme prejudice. Belatedly, Obi-Wan realised that the soldier was a sniper, and likely aiming for him.

He decided to spare a little of their focus on the battle they were in, and quickly shot two of the Melida they had trapped. The ambush had all been Mr. Valum’s plan- it was almost as if he had _foreseen_ it.

“Well, you’ve probably never heard of them. I belong to the Force Order known as the _Tsis._ ” said Mr. Valum, whimsically raising an infantryman into the air and turning him around so that he tumbled headfirst.

 _‘Tsis’?_ No, he hadn’t heard of them. He supposed he had a bit of reading to do. He refrained from asking what Side of the Force they used- Mr. Valum was far more powerful than he was, at any rate. And besides that, he had succeeded in not killing anybody in a situation wherein it was very difficult to not kill anybody, if the sewer incident was any indication.

“How does your order work?” he demanded, trying to not be polite about it, as politeness turned Mr. Valum murderous.

“Well, just as the Jedi are led by a Grand Master, the _Tsis_ are led by a _Jen’ari._ I am specifically the seventh _Jen’ari,_ and we’re quite a… peaceful… lot. We do not interfere with the efforts of the Jedi, in any way. We remain mostly hidden, as that is preferable to our, er, sense of sanctity.”

“Are… are there Basic translations of those terms?” Obi-Wan said into his comm, shooting down three Daan- whose faction had also been lured into the trap.

“Not really. The Balc speech in High Kittât is an elegant language, and to translate it would be nothing short of a travesty. Now, each _Jen’ari_ typically has precisely one apprentice, to whom they devote all their time and attention. When said apprentice is strong enough, the Master, er… retires. They are freed from the duty of being a _Jen’ari.”_

“I… see.” said Obi-Wan. “So you said you have been somehow… displaced… out of time?”

“Indeed, yes. The last year I remembered was 177 ARR, in which I can only assume my head was smashed somewhere, with me being preserved in stasis or by the force ability _Morichro,_ perhaps, and transported… here. I do not remember being unconscious, however. The last thing I recall was the lovely sight of glowing runes and glyhs in a _Tsis_ temple.” came the answer, as the Melida began desperately shooting at Mr. Valum’s cloak, which had simply absorbed a few shots before strangling three of them at once.

“How long has your order been around, Mr. Valum?

“About more than a hundred years. We began on Lehon, you see, while the Jedi and the Brotherhood of Darkness were engaged in the Ruusan war- stupid, pointless conflict, by the way. _Jen’ari_ Bane was the First of us, followed by _Jen’ari_ Zannah, Cognus, Ultor, Venge, Damnosus and then I. _Jen’ari_ Vectivus.”

“Vectivus?”

“That is my _Chatsdzwol,_ if you will. My given name, a moniker. We all have real names, of course, as a _Tsis_ is allowed an existence outside the Force, quite unlike a certain other Order. Bane was Dessel, Zannah was Rain… rather less impressive, if I do say so myself, although my own ‘Tor Valum’ has something of an elegance to it.”

“I… see. Did you have an apprentice as well, Mr… do you prefer to go by ‘Tor Valum’ or ‘ _Jen’ari_ Vectivus’?” said Obi-Wan, himself using the Force to swat a sniper out of place.

“Call me _Taral_ , son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  SITH TRANSLATIONS    
>  **
> 
> Tsis - Sith
> 
> Jen'ari - Darth
> 
> Balc - The Sith Dialect
> 
> Kittât - The Sith Script
> 
> Chatsdzwol - Given name (lit. Gained Existence)
> 
> Taral - Guardian/Protector (the closest thing to a parent the Sith can allow) 
> 
> Also, Kintik Hadzuska Sutta Chwituskak!- Darkest-born flung spears! 
> 
> So I made up a few Sith names. Ultor is Latin for 'Punisher', while 'Damnosus' means 'Ruinous'. This is taken from a trend of Latin names among Sith Lords, notably Tenebrae/Vitiate, Fulminis, Nox/Imperius and so on. Darth Venge, if I do recall correctly, is an particularly manipulative original character I made up for the Order of the Sith Lords. 
> 
> The gist of it is that Vectivus pretty much told Obi-Wan the history of the Sith Lords without actually doing so, in order for him to be able to use the 'Certain Point of View' Gambit when the truth is found out.. And yes, he fully intends to teach Obi-Wan Sith at some time (when he's fed him enough sweets, that is).


	4. Calamitous Civil Wars

**Calamitous Civil Wars**

_‘Taral’._

Now that was an interesting word. It was the only one Mr. Valum had deigned to translate from the so-called Balc speech that was known only to the _Tsis._

‘Guardian’, it meant, ‘Protector’.

Obi-Wan had yet to understand the anecdotal importance of the word. There was something called the _Qotsisajak_ which Mr. Valum wanted him to learn, something that would allow him to interpret it- but perhaps it was merely a reference to Valum’s nature, or how he saw himself.

Perhaps it was a reference to how all the _Tsis_ saw themselves.

Although- and here Obi-Wan realised he was calling upon skills of observation that he had gained not from his training but from watching Mr. Valum- there was something about it when he spoke the word, something of _feeling._

Something of… _affection?_

No, no, he couldn’t be too sure. He had only seen something of the sort from his crèche Master, Vant, and the great Wookiee Jedi Master Tyvokka (may he rest eternally in the Force) when he had been brought to the Temple. Master Qui-Gon had (very wisely) closed himself off from demonstrating any affection- yet another facet of why he was a learned Jedi Master, and why Obi-Wan was a foolish padawan who should never have left his side.

And even then it seemed walled-off, as if it carried barriers. What he felt from Mr. Valum was something different, something that was given freely. It was… warm, and a comfort that allowed him to sleep better at night.

His few nights of full sleep were gained previously whenever Cerasi spoke to him, with some soft whisper of reassurance, but of course he had reduced the frequency of how often they met now. An odd suggestion had come to him, that his silly little _crush_ on her was _puerile_ and _unwarranted,_ and that he should leave her be.

Oddly enough, that sounded precisely like something Mr. Valum would say- only that he had never said it. It was surely an imagining of Obi-Wan’s own. It made perfect sense, anyways- Cerasi had places to be, things to do. He need not bother her.

Strangely enough, most of the time he had to himself was spent with Mr. Valum. Obi-Wan noticed that Mr. Valum was often alone, always at that desk he had somehow conjured up, sitting with a datapad with a hard expression that betrayed no emotion. He had also not missed the way Mr. Valum’s eyes would _light up_ whenever he came, soft gold brightening, welcoming his presence and indulging his every question.

_Taral._

Given the sheer _number_ of times Mr. Valum had saved him from certain doom- given all the instances when he had wrangled out a sniper Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed or paused an assassin in stasis with the Force- meant that Obi-Wan had nothing but the most superficial scratches from the War (which was a pity; he’d have liked some scars).

It was undeniable that Mr. Valum was his _Taral,_ if only in the conventional sense of the word. Though Obi-Wan hadn’t yet figured out the hidden connotations, and didn’t approve of the way Mr. Valum completely abandoned his mild ways and _brutalised_ anybody who ever aimed for him and not any other with extreme prejudice, it only felt right.

And now, with the Young about to win the War (largely thanks to some of Mr. Valum’s strategies and advice), he had thoroughly earned the title thrice over.

Obi-Wan found him in his dark room (why he insisted on the perpetual gloom was puzzling- maybe it was an intricacy of the _Tsis)_ as he was wont to, huddled over a veritable mound of datapads.

“Hello there, _Taral.”_

The gold of Mr. Valum’s eyes was blinding, but not as much so as his sudden smile.

* * *

“Ah. I take it the method of abduction I have proposed has been accepted?”

“I still don’t agree with it, Taral, thank you for asking, but by some miracle, it seems Nield has turned to the worship of the very ground you walk. Cerasi, too, agreed with it- and if it stops the violence, I’m in.”

_Excellent._

His progress thus far had been satisfactory. No more cautiously polite 'Mr. Valum'; his ~~son~~ apprentice was already referring to him as he should be- for now he _was_ his ~~father~~ Taral. And that is as it always would be.

He was glad to see the Young fools had seen sense. Of course, his visions had informed him of the names and nature of the leaders of the Melida and the Daan. And what horrible names.

Lord Kardashj of the Melida, General Kruziikrel of the Daan- why, it was no wonder they were all violent sociopaths. Their parents must not have been a very eloquent lot.

For now, he had been glad to teach Obi-Wan the arts of Force Stealth and Darksight without him noticing. When he would fully accept ~~fatherhood~~ apprenticeship, Vectivus could teach him some of the more elegant arts such as Force Phantoms, Dun Möch and _maybe_ Force Lightning.

Of course, Obi-Wan was glad and gave him a wide smile as he abandoned his datapads and rose from his mound of work (arrangements to embezzle postwar funds and largesse from the Young, as well as plans for a University). He had already come to see that not a head of hair on his head would be harmed so long as he, the Sith Master, walked around with him.

He met the Young leaders in a blown-off part of the cramped sewer, a place not nearly as malodorous as the rest. He had taken to perfuming his robes recently, purging olfactory influences with the Dark Side. His plans had been accepted, of course.

Cerasi gave him a once-over, and rather suspiciously at that, while Obi-Wan’s smile had not ceased. At times, the girl would shoot worried glances at Obi-Wan and then at him. Vectivus had of course sensed the plot against her- now would he aid it along, or let it run its course? A question for another time.

“Ready for the mission, Taral?” Obi-Wan asked him, rather cheerfully so for a war veteran. Vectivus had made sure of it, reducing casualties to the most painstaking degree, always steering him away from particularly nasty messes.

“In whatever way you might have thought of, son.”

Obi-Wan beamed, and began briefing their assault team. Vectivus, as always, thought of the future, his plans having already been made for the present.

Now, this whole planet was _filled_ with employees- and they would all be working for him at the end. Postwar financial crisis? One of his favourite situations, for Vectivus saw only profit.

 _Higher Ground Enterprises,_ he thought. Fine, crisp name. It would soon be an exceedingly profitable venture, if he had his way. Now, how to get Obi-Wan to sign a contract that would make him apprentice partner without him knowing it…

* * *

“So we just walk into the Melida base, cut the power, kidnap Lord Kardashj and his associates and leave?” Nield asked, almost impatient.

“No. Mr. Valum sneaks into the base and _disrupts_ the power supply- nothing as inelegant as shorting it out- setting it to be disabled when _we_ enter the building. Then, insofar as he may, Mr. Valum shall simultaneously sneak into the Daan base and abduct General Kruziikrel just as we sneak into this one and find Lord Kardashj. The superimposition of both events in the same frame of time eliminate the possibility of unforeseen cooperation, or the chance that spies of either faction planted in the other’s base cannot warn their own.”

Nield seemed to clutch his head, and Obi-Wan could not understand why. It was all rather clear to him- perhaps Nield ought to spend some more time with his Taral.

“Alright, alright. Just tell me when he’s done, and we will come along.”

“Pardon me, but I will suggest an amendment. I should like you to come along with me on the initial infiltration, Obi-Wan. This might be a… _teaching_ moment.” Taral said, walking up behind him.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure- he’d most certainly be a burden- but as he had found out, it was nigh-impossible to argue with his Taral whenever some such ‘teaching moments’ arose.

They set off.

The preliminary part was simple. Obi-Wan immersed himself in the ocean of the Force, just as his Taral had taught him. He unleashed a subtle command in the Force to all who might be in his vicinity- _look away._

They did.

They swept stealthily to the sentries, who fell suddenly asleep, compelled to do so by the _Jen’ari_ (wasn’t that a violation of freewill? Nonsense, his Taral would never normally sink to something uncivilised; it was merely a situation that warranted aggressive negotiation).

From then on, it was clockwork. Taral would clamp the guards’ mouths shut with the Force as Obi-Wan stunned them with his Blaster. Sometimes Obi-Wan would use the Force himself to haul a soldier into his path, where it would be met by his Taral’s Force push, the opposite Forces resulting in instantaneous unconsciousness without the sound that came with simply blasting them into the walls.

Of course, there was that one slip-up where a cunning sniper had singled him out and shot at him, and was thus treated to the horror of his blaster bolt stopping in midair and then being rebounded directly at his eye. He was then brutally impaled by a shard of the wall that seemed to have broken himself off.

_Angry Taral, bad Taral._

Obi-Wan took a number of calming breaths. This was a war. He himself had killed many of the Melida and the Daan, certainly far more than his Taral ever had. He wasn’t- he wasn’t _dark,_ was he?

Obi-Wan liked to think he was not- how, then, could his gentle (if a little hard-headed and calculating) Taral ever be so? He’d resolved to have a talk with him later, after the war was over.

At length, they made their way to a clandestine circuit motherboard, separated from the main apparatus in a cunning manner that his Taral had somehow known about.

As Obi-Wan picked off a few of the engineers that worked on it, subduing the various guards with the Force, he didn’t have much time to watch his Taral work. The one time he did, he was sure he was seeing things.

Most likely the bloodshed had gotten to him. His eyes were deceiving him, surely.

Yes. There was no way _sparks_ were coming out of his Taral’s fingers. _No way._ They had to have come from the circuit board- certainly not from his fingers. _Absolutely not,_ whatever it may seem.

“Be careful, Taral. Your fingers might be getting a bit, um, close to the electric discharges.”

“Ah, but of course I am aware it may _seem_ that way, son. Trust my skills as a _Jen’ari_ of the _Tsis,_ at least. I know _precisely_ what I am doing- why, perhaps I might teach this little technique to you someday, if you do believe your future does indeed lie with the _Tsis.”_

Obi-Wan thought on those words.

Yes- perhaps he did belong with the _Tsis._ If his Taral was any indicator, he’d even be _proud_ to be one of their number.

 _Jen’ari Kenobi._ It did have a nice ring to it, whatever it meant. He’d abandon such concerns now, anyways- all that meant anything to him was the mission, and the task at hand.

As he and his Taral left, the rigging done, he was sure they’d succeed.

* * *

They did not succeed.

“It was a clever plan you concocted there, _children-_ but not as clever as I.” spouted a preening Lord Kardashj from the ‘throne’ on which he sat, where he liked to give himself airs. Nield spat from where he was cuffed and held at gunpoint by two of Kardashj’s henchmen, and Obi-Wan, uncivilised as the gesture was, found himself inclined to agree.

Kardashj really was the most melodramatic caricature of the quintessential monologuing villain from Holofilms, wasn’t he? And even then, he had been competent enough to catch them.

No Tor Valum to save him now, gone to the Daan Base as he had- and Obi-Wan had _failed._

“How typical”, he chided himself, before abruptly pausing.

 _Something_ had made its presence known in the Force. Something _Dark._

Something _terrifyingly angry._


	5. Calumnious Counterabductions

**Calumnious Counterabductions**

The Door opened a smidge, right after most of Lord Kardashj’s henchmen had been smashed into the walls by some unseen force.

The Dark Side swirled freely in the room, and Obi-Wan found his weighted head dizzy. As such, he did not feel the full extent of the shock and horror he would likely have felt when Tor Valum strode quietly into the room, arms not even raised.

All he felt was the stray thought- perhaps there was a Taral to rescue him after all.

“You’re here… you’re… _here…_ ” Obi-Wan muttered. It was all very confusing.

 _Why_ would Mr. Valum take the _enormous_ risks associated with rushing back here, all to save _him?_ Well, Taral or not, it- it _made no sense!_

Whatever it would seem, Mr. Valum was a very strictly rational man in moments such as these, with a fully utilitarian morality as befit a Jedi (he’d have to learn where a _Tsis_ fell on that spectrum later). And he- how did he matter anyway? Not much, if at all.

Finding himself rather hard-pressed to comprehend, Obi-Wan collapsed in a heap. Perhaps it was a result of the torture by way of electrostaff he had endured- or perhaps it was simply due to a conundrum of incomprehension.

* * *

“Nield. _Out.”_ said the Sith Lord, the very air crackling with his particular subtle power. A very slight extension of one finger, and the boy’s cuffs fell off.

“I- I’m not leaving without the others-“

“ _Out,”_ pronounced Vectivus again, “if you wish not to be turned quite accidentally into a _Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut.”_

The words in Ancient Sith carried a subtle, dark power. A shadowy word that reeked of _death-_ and Nield, Force-insensitive as he was, still felt the echoes of its darkness.

Lord Kardashj, at that moment, chose very unfortunately (or fortunately, as the Dark Lord would say) to fire a blaster shot at Vectivus, who raised one palm immediately. The plasma bolt promptly disappeared into nothingness, absorbed utterly.

 _Hmm._ Perhaps he could have been rather more refined about it, dissipating the blaster shot’s energy into infinitesimal traces instead of bluntly absorbing it by tutaminis, but he was, at the moment, aiming _precisely_ to be uncivilised- and as much as possible, at that.

Before Kardash could fire another shot, the blaster was ripped out of his grip, coming to revolve near Vectivus’ hands.

He waved his other hand, the overwhelming power of the Dark Side snapping every electrocuff in the room, even the spares presently in the guards’ pockets.

“I am not used to repeating myself, and should pray, for your sake, that I am not required to begin the practice.” he said mildly, voice barely a whisper. A terribly dangerous whisper.

A few of the Young captives could not get up. Vectivus paid them no heed, absently chucking their prone forms out of the room.

“We- _I_ won’t leave without Obi-Wan.” said Nield, standing resolutely, looking none too happy at how his comrades had been thrown out without a word.

“Unfortunate.” was all Vectivus said.

At the centre of the room, there were two huge Whiphid Guards, hired mercenaries of the Melida, currently frozen in stasis, for they held Obi-Wan. Vectivus had thus been reluctant to throw them around, as such required an excess of force for their kind, and his little one could get hurt, even very slightly so. This would not now prove to be a problem.

Rather proud of his technique, the Sith Lord drew a clawing motion across the air, and Kardashj’s rather blunt blaster _ripped_ through one of them, coming out of a clean blaster-shaped hole at the back.

_Nield ran._

* * *

“I… I… ugh!” Obi-Wan spluttered, shaking himself to wakefulness by sheer force of will. It was, after all, quite an unpleasant experience to be woken by one of the most unpleasant smells that can ever be organically produced outside a laboratory.

“There, there, son. There, there.” whispered a soft, soothing voice, and the former Jedi felt as if he was being rocked to and fro, and with an almost superfluous gentleness.

Of course, he thought he naturally didn’t deserve such tenderness ( _he had failed, after all),_ he decided to balance it with unpleasantness, finally attempting to discern the smell.

“Someone’s… peed… on cloth, it would seem by the- _ech-_ muted odour.”

“A sad dysfunction of the human psyche, my dear Obi-Wan, when provided a certain stimulus- and perhaps at times a sad necessity. I, too, have bemoaned my frailty as one of the human species, and wish oft that I were a Neti- freed of such excretory indignities.”

Obi-Wan could not quite make out what had been said (which was lucky). He found it rather soothing, however.

What with that ridiculous tone and absolute lack of propensity for trenchancy, he knew it to be his Taral.

“Is… is something wrong, _Taral?_ Is something… burning?”

“Ah, _was,_ Obi-Wan, _was._ A… an accident, of sorts. It seems as if a fuse has blown, _somewhere._ Worry not, Lord Kardashj is captured, as is Kruziikrel. You are safe from them.”

Obi-Wan finally drowsily opened his eyes.

“Why… why aren’t we going away from the smell? Why is the… urea… and the exhumed flesh coming with us?”

“Hmm, a fair enquiry. I might as well add it to my ever-growing quiver of woes- why, indeed, must we smell? Why can we not be beings of pure energy, thought given form, free to the pursuit of knowledge without olfactory hazards involved? Although perhaps we were, at some point. The Second Law of Thermodynamics would rather aptly explain it, if that were the case.”

The spinning suddenly induced in his head was pleasant, and he nearly gave in to the temptation of nodding off in his Taral’s wonderfully warm arms- but a large red drop of… _something…_ seemed to have other ideas.

Obi-wan snapped his eyes open.

“Taral?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes, son?”

Regardless of whatever he meant by ‘son’ (possibly another idiosyncracy of his speech; _Taral_ meant _guardian,_ there was no way he ever _actually_ intended to adopt him), Obi-Wan found that it was time to state the obvious.

“That’s blood.”

“ _Ah.”_ said his Taral, lowering a finger and gently wiping it off his cheek.

“Not yours, I grant you- and certainly not mine. You will notice that it is Whiphid Blood, by the property of swift coagulation-“

 _“Taral”_ Obi-Wan said, now fully awake and aware of the horror of the situation, _“_ that won’t cut it. There’s a _lot_ of blood.”

“There is? Dear me.”

“You’re _covered_ in blood” he said, rather less elegantly than his Taral would have liked it, purely because he wished to impress a point upon him.

Oddly enough, his Taral seemed not to have noticed, which was _ridiculous._ Given how tidy the man was, there was no way he would have noticed and remained so supremely unfazed. Perhaps Taral was colour blind? Well, the, he was lucky to be blind to crimson. _Not my colour,_ Obi-Wan thought faintly.

“…Oh. Truth be told, there is little one can do to help such a matter, is there? The small intestine’s walls are typically rather full of the stuff.”

“The small- _what? WHAT HAPPENED, TARAL?!”_ he nearly shouted, full-blown shock having descended upon him.

“Now, now, Obi-Wan. Deep breaths. _Eyah seh maat, shu kor huaan.”_

A wave of deep calm, soothing as the rumbling deeps, gently set his spirit awash. _Hmm._ Interesting. It seemed that speaking the _Tsis_ language had some inherent power within the Force- fascinating. He’d have to study it later.

“What you must understand, Obi-Wan, is that I am forever an optimist. The past is ours to twist as we must, for it exists only in memory- it is, therefore, possible to, ah, gloss over some instances that may not have a great import in the grand scheme of matters.”

“Oh, fair enough, Taral.” Obi-Wan said, nodding. Somehow, it sounded very wise. “Um, you- you said you don’t mind my curiosity, so- I- please tell me what happened? I- I don’t wish you to face the horrors of war alone.”

Taral’s golden eyes (they were glowing particularly bright today) momentarily softened, and then hardened.

“Let us suffice by saying that, ah, a few… screws… ran loose.”

“Literally or figuratively speaking?”

“Come, now, Obi-Wan- how could I know?”

* * *

Aside from the woeful circumstance of having to bundle up Lord Kardashj (who had seen fit to relieve himself in his trousers at his very _unobtrusive_ entrance, the coward), and enduring Cerasi’s glares for days on end after depositing the odious Melida leader at her doorstep before running off to thoroughly scourge his cloak, it had been a rather successful week.

With the capture of Kardashj and Kruziikrel, the Civil War had been won, and a Young government had been put in place with Cerasi as the head.

Vectivus had, of course, succeeded in legally embezzling most of their funds and largesse for _Higher Ground Enterprises,_ which he would unveil shortly. The government, of course, would constitute his future employees.

It had taken a simple _Q_ _âzoi Kyantuska_ incantation to subtly subjugate most of the Young to his will (Cerasi was too stubborn, but her influence would fade, soon enough), and _Higher Ground_ seemed to have a very bright future, especially as he laid his plans to assassinate the Hutts. All of them.

That, however, could wait. He had a ~~son~~ apprentice to see to.

“To what destination do we- insofar as this moment extends- envisage to venture, Taral?” Obi-Wan asked with a certain degree of curiosity from the back-seat of their new speeder.

Vectivus smiled. Now that he had fully recovered, he was speaking normally again. Truth be told, he had been fully prepared for a ‘where are we going’ and had intended to reply to that question in every possible manner in hopes that Obi-Wan’s curiosity would be sated.

He was surprised, however, by his apprentice’s speedy recovery to normalcy, even after that shock. He truly had found the prefect heir.

“I am… aware… of a custom that has developed among the Young, to celebrate the conflict’s end, potentially economically disastrous as it might be.”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks turned the subtlest shade of soft pink, though he tried his utmost to hide it.

“You’ve brought me a gift?”

“Imprecise, Obi-Wan. Your skills of observation must be further honed. I am bringing you _to_ a gift.”

Obi-Wan was still rather speechless, and Vectivus was sad to say he knew the reason. The dear boy thought he deserved nothing, whereas he would himself pour every content of his heart to those in need of compassion.

That problem certainly had an easy fix. Yes, the fabled Staff of Marka Ragnos, first true Emperor of the Sith, would be precisely the gift needed. If only he could get around to resuming his search for it- but hopefully he would have time after he had destroyed Hutt Space entirely and freed all their slaves (unlike those sluggards, he was rather happy to pay in full for employment).

“Now, now, I couldn’t think of anything to give under these odd circumstances, but I had the good-fortune to be able to arrange fireworks.” he said with a smile, and Obi-Wan’s lip trembled.

He was terribly curious about fireworks, of course, eco-friendly as they were not- but his would prove to be, certainly.

They had just about reached the spot (the spot free of holocams and any kind of surveillance, that was), when Obi-Wan lost his internal battle, and decided to accept as his Taral had gone to such lengths for him through the kindness of his heart, and it would have been unkind on his part to refuse.

“Now, you run along, Obi-Wan, and stare straight ahead. I- I fear, after that, er, explosive accident at the Melida base, I would not be entirely unruffled by eclectic flashing.”

“Oh, of course, Taral.”

Obi-Wan nodded, at once, before disembarking and walking slowly ahead. Vectivus waited until he himself was out of Obi-Wan’s sight.

Now, Red Force lightning was typically tremendously difficult to summon, as it required an act of immense hatred and rage, and could by no means be summoned in a concentrated flow, as that would destroy the wielder if they weren’t a near-mythical being such as a Sith’ari.

One-off, however, it served as an _excellent_ ‘firework’.

Summoning it was now, in fact, terribly easy. He only had to imagine someone- _anyone-_ laying the smallest of fingrs on Obi-Wan.

Vectivus raised his palm and shot the terrible red flash skyward.

“WOW! Taral- I- I can’t believe… I beg your pardon…”

“Obi-Wan’s eyes were slightly glazed over, which was good, as he could not see the extent to which Vectivus was panting.

“That… that was _beautiful.”_

“Hmm. And here I believed I was losing my touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody help this poor Sith Dad. He's very new to it and honestly doesn't know what his baby should and should not see. 
> 
> That's the end of this one, my dear readers. Shmi sets him right in the next one, when I come around to writing it.
> 
>  **TRANSLATIONS**  
>  Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut- Reanimated Dead
> 
> Eyah seh maat, shu kor huaan- Unknown; something soothing. 
> 
> Qâzoi Kyantuska- 'Suppress Thought'- The Sith Equivalent to the Jedi Mind Trick
> 
> Sith'ari- The Sith version of the Chosen One


End file.
